


Screaming

by orphan_account



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Death, Grief, Jean/Marco - Freeform, M/M, No Sex, No Smut, Sad, Short, bye-bye marco, dead Marco, he is ded, jeanmarco, just sad feels, many sads, much sad, not an au, otpprompts.tumblr.com, yeah - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-17
Updated: 2014-06-17
Packaged: 2018-02-05 00:47:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1799323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alternate Title:<br/> "What Happened If Jean/Marco Was Cannon And Jean Saw Marco Die In That Titan Attack."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Screaming

**Author's Note:**

> Very sad. I got bored in my bio class and so I typed this up on my phone, because I saw a post by OTPprompts and I was immediately hit with JeanMarco feels and I don't know why I bothered posting it on my tumblr, because not one of my followers gives a flying fuck about anything I create myself, whether it be art or writing.  
> But I did. Got no notes, but I figured maybe here it might be appreciated.   
> I don't really care either way.   
> Just kidding. I do hope my efforts to make this weren't wasted and gives SOMEONE some serious feels.
> 
> So here it is.
> 
> url to that otp prompts post:  
> http://otpprompts.tumblr.com/post/86700678459/person-a-of-your-otp-has-just-died-in-a-horrible

Jean took a shaky breath. The gun was heavy in his sweaty palm. He stared at the image in the mirror: a thin, pale boy stared back with wide, dead eyes. A musket hung heavily his hands, the barrel ending right under his chin. Jean swallowed, and clenched his eyes shut. His finger tip stroked the trigger, and he knew from hours of military training the resistance it would give, and the pressure he would have to apply. He stood, a tear sliding down his cheek, gathering his strength to pull it. When he did, he could join Marco. He wouldn't have to live without him anymore.

Jean had met him on the first day of training. A kind, freckled boy with a good heart and honest eyes. The two became bunk buddies. They became best friends. Then, one night, Marco had made them lovers. Jean was so glad that he had, because Jean would have never been able to do it himself. Jean had enjoyed every blissful moment of the years of training, living, and simply  _being_  with Marco. He felt as if he was only himself with Marco. Jean couldn't imagine a life without Marco.

Until the Titan attack. Fresh out of military training, the trainees were sent out to fight titans in a sudden breach of the walls. _Why would they send trainees to the front lines?_

Marco had been flying, graceful and happy and freckled as ever, next to Jean. They had shared a smile. Jean opened his mouth to speak, to tease Marco, but suddenly, Marco wasn't there.

A scream, and Jean finally turned, grappling with the maneuver gear to swing back. Jean saw the Titan, and on the ground next to it, Marco. His gorgeously freckled face, his kind smile… gone.  Half of Marco was gone. His mouth was grotesquely grinning from the side that remained, but the light in his eyes was no where to be found. All that remained of Marco was his body, and not all of it was even there. Jean knew, the image was burned into the back of his eyelids. Every time he closed his eyes, the experience hit him with a new wave of grief and nausea.

At the time, Jean had felt a scream rip through his throat. He felt pain like he had never felt before and it _hurt_. He jumped down from the building he had been perched on and had run over to Marco. Marco Bodt, his everything, lay with half of his body dripping into a pile of blood on the cobblestones.

After they had joined the military police, they had decided that they were going to get married. Jean had managed to ask Marco for his hand in marriage only three days before. He grabbed Marco’s hand, and held it to his chest. The cheap leather band that Jean had slid around Marco’s ring finger only days before was stained with blood.

Screaming. All Jean could feel was this  _screaming_  that emanated from his heart, from his mind, from his soul. It ripped through his chest, and had left a giant cavity. He couldn't breath. It tore through his legs and Jean fell to his knees. The screaming made an acid well up in his eyes, which couldn't move from Marco’s corpse. The acid dripped down onto his cheek and blazed a stinging path down his face. Jean felt like he was burning, and it was a fire more painful and more fierce than anything else in the world.

Jean couldn't remember much after that. Somehow, he ended up on his feet, then in the air, trying to get away, run away from everything. Marco couldn't be dead. Marco was… happy, full of energy, smiling, alive Marco. Marco couldn't die. Marco could not be dead.

But he was. And soon, so would Jean.

Slowly, Jean took a breath. The constant screaming was finally beginning to ebb and quiet as he organized his final thoughts.  _Marco, Marco, Marco… I love you, Marco, I’m sorry, Marco._

_I’m sorry._

 

 

 

 

A loud, bold sound filled the room.

Jean slowly opened his eyes, and felt the gun slip out of his grip and fall to the floor. Jean blinked, and wiped his eyes roughly with his sleeves. He walked to the door, in a daze. He felt his hand reach out, twist the knob, and pull the door open.

A short. severe man stood just outside the thresh hold.

"You skipped the selection of your military branch. So you don’t get a choice. You have been allocated to the Survey Corps. Come with me."

A silence grew suffocating. The short man’s gaze penetrated deeply into Jean’s own. Neither of them moved for a timeless moment.

"Or you could sit in this bunk, rot, and die after a pointless, painful existence, thus becoming a shit-stain on our already _wonderful_ pile-of-shit existence. Your choice."

The short man spun on his heel and began walking down the street. Inhaling shakily, Jean stepped out of the door, dazedly hurrying after the short individual.

He couldn't do this anymore. What would Marco think? Marco would never want to marry such a sorry-looking, pitiful guy. Marco loved him because he stood up and fought for what he believed in. Marco... He would want Jean to be strong, and fight, and make sure no one was ever killed by another titan.

Jean clenched his jaw. He would try, for Marco. He had to try. For Marco.

He jogged to catch up to the short man, not bothering to make sure the door shut behind him, not bothering to go back for the musket or any of his belongings. They didn't matter. All that mattered was the burning resolve growing firm in his chest, and...

_Marco, I'm sorry. I promise to never give up again._

_I love you._


End file.
